My brother shot me in the leg with a bb gun once- but only once cause he got in a lot of trouble for that. We played in the sugar cane fields (and ditches) every day till we heard my dad's whistle. The only instructions were to not go so far that we couldn't hear him. He was loud though, so we could go pretty far.
We shot snakes and frogs and birds from our pirogue in the bayou, and played endless games of croquet at my grandparents house. The shed where the game was stored (my grandad's toolshed) smelled like used motor-oil. There was always a pan of it in there somewhere.
My grandad always had enough change in his pocket for a treat if the ice cream truck came by his house. He lived in a city. We lived too far in the country for ice cream trucks at my parents house.
We got our milk delivered but it was in cartons, not bottles. I loved catching fireflies at night in our yard. Some time in my teenage years, they all disappeared. Probably pesticides the cane farmers used. I was delighted to discover that there are still plenty of fireflies where I now live in Alabama! I love to sit outside and watch them in the spring. Makes me feel 8 years old again.
Remember they "Have you seen me" printed on the carton. I remember reading those images of the poor missing kids while eating my morning cereal before school.